Like Broken Glass
by WildBeastOwner
Summary: Sayid's love ,Nadia, survived her escape from the Republican Guard prison. Now with a husband and child in America she longs for Sayid & wonders if she can be happy from the home land she draws strength from.
1. Prisoner of Love & Debt

Nadia held close to her, letting her tears fells on his clothing. She clung to him, never to let go. Her heart pounded deep in her chest, ready to explode with joy.

"I will never let you go again," she whispered. His hand was on her shoulder, shaking it, shaking, shaking…

"Mommy!" She pushed aside the curtains of sleep, and felt for the hand of her daughter.

"Mommy, I had a nightmare." Tears left wet streaks on the little girls face. Nadia held the child, singing softly. The girl's eyes fluttered, and closed, and soon she was breathing deeply, fast asleep.

Nadia carried her back to her bedroom. The house was the peaceful dark of night. It wrapped around her, like a quilt. It was a comforting darkness, not the terrible ones she had endured in Iraq.

Nadia knew she could not return to sleep. She walked into the bathroom, every footstep silent; there were some habits that you never broke.

She turned on the light and examined her reflection. It struck her that she was looking at the new Nadia, the American Nadia. But was the American Nadia so very different? The dark circles beneath her eyes had faded, and she had gained weight. She looked healthy, but she felt empty within.

She looked through the cabinets and took out a small bundle. It was a strip of cloth, embroidered in fanciful designs. She gently unfolded the cloth and gazed down at her treasures. The only bits of her culture she had dared to bring from her homeland. Her mother's hairbrush, a rag doll, a bit of cloth from her father's store, things that made her heart burn.

Nadia removed the hairbrush and replaced the bundle. She fingered the bristles, nearly all gone now. She ran the brush through her hair, humming quietly to herself.

Someone knocked softly on the bathroom door. She set the brush down and opened the door. It was Eric, her husband.

"Nadia, it's one AM. What are you doing?"

"Sherri could not sleep. She had a nightmare." Nadia's English was slow, and deliberate. "I could not return to sleep."

He winked at her, and smiled. Eric wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck.

"Come back to bed then," he snaked a bold hand into her bath robe, pressing warm fingers against her flesh.

She opened her mouth to protest. Images of Sayid and Sherri flashed through her mind. She knew she owed this man so much. He held her prisoner, with chains stronger than those of the Republican Guard.

This man had saved her life and the life of the bastard child. But most importantly, he had saved Sayid.

Suddenly, she knew what made the new Nadia different. The old Nadia had been truly free. She looked out the window. Her hand ached where the Republican Guard had drilled through her hand, telling her there would be a storm.

She let Eric pull her through the door to their bedroom.


	2. Pretty Hands

Nadia pretended to be asleep when Eric got up to go to work. She listened to him dress, eat breakfast and leave. Shortly after he left she got up, wrapping a quilt around her bare shoulders. She curled up on the sofa, and turned on the television. She flicked through the six stations they got and settled on a talk show.

The show reached a commercial break, and immediately a child's face appeared on the screen. It was an Iraqi girl, starved near death. Her face was scarred and she was crying. It was a campaign ad, related to the Gulf War. Nadia groped for the remote and turned the television off, before she could see any more shots of her war torn homeland. She cried quietly, letting tears drip down her face. Iraq was her blood, her soul, her mind, her heart. How could they destroy it so? Americans seemed content to call Iraq 'a third world country.' To criticize the theocracy so many Iraqis trusted. They would pretend to give their hearts to God in a Christian or Jewish chapel, but condemn Muslims who opened their soul absolutely. She cradled her head in her arms and sobbed, silently.

Sherri's feet padded quietly into the living room. Nadia rushed to dry her tears.

"Mommy? Why are you crying?" Nadia lifted Sherri on to her lap, "Is it the bad mans?"

Nadia wrapped her eyes around the girl and whispered, "What bad men?"

"With the guns, who made us run, until Daddy brought us on the plane?"

Nadia was hit by a cold wave of nausea. She hadn't realized Sherri remembered so much of their post-American life.

"No, Sherri. We are safe from the bad men."

Sherri traced a finger along the pattern of scars covering Nadia's hands, thoughtfully. The scars had always fascinated the child. Smooth, white stripes, that branched out from the center where there was a circle, less than an inch in diameter.

Presently, the child said, "Mommy, you have pretty hands. They have pictures on them."

Panic rose in Nadia's throat, but she didn't show it. She kept her face calm, hiding a turbulent storm.

"Yes, Sherri. They are pictures. Remember in your picture books? Remember how the pictures tell a story?"

Sherri scrunched up her lips, and looked deep in thought.

"Like The Little Engine That Could?"

"Yes. Remember that the pictures told about the little engine." Sherri nodded solemly. "Well, these pictures tell a story, too. Except this story doesn't have a happy ending, Sherri. These pictures tell a very sad story, about a very sad part of my life and a very sad time for Iraq."

"You mean the good little boys and girls never get their toys, because the little engine couldn't climb high enough?" Sherri's eyes were wide.

"Sort of. But now I have pictures on my hands that tell about a sad time that I don't want to remember. When you have pictures on your hands, Sherri, be sure to make them happy ones."

Sherri's face showed that she was trying to understand.

"Sherri, I want you to make me a promise. I want you to forget the bad men, and forget everything you remember happening before the plane ride with Eric."

"You mean Daddy?"

"Yes, forget everything."

"Why?"

"To make the nightmares go away."

They sat quietly on the couch, holding each other. Sherri concentrated on forgetting. Nadia stared at the scars on her hands.


End file.
